Page 3 of Mountain Man Rescue
Lucky hops into her lap, purring like a small engine. “Hi, Lucky,” she murmurs, scratching the spot behind his ear that makes him go boneless. “How did you pick his name?”
“He’s named after my best friend. He loved cats and he loved mountains. But he didn’t make it home to see them.”
Her eyes lift. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” Not wanting to go down that road, I lift the kettle from the stove. “Coffee or tea?”
“Depends. What do you have to put in it?” She smooths a hand across Lucky’s tan fur.
“I have cream and milk,” I open the refrigerator, double-checking the expiration dates.
“Umm, no. I definitely could use something stronger.”
I shift to the cabinet. “Will whiskey do?”
“Yes,” she sighs. “That’s perfect. No coffee or tea, though. Just the whiskey.”
I grab glasses, keeping my eye on her. “How are you feeling? Do you have pain anywhere? Are you lightheaded?”
“I’m fine,” she shifts on the couch, giving Lucky a space to nestle in beside her. “I’m an ex-wedding photographer, now a temporary traveler.” Her mouth twists. “A week ago, I quit my job after walking in on my ex-boyfriend shampooing a soon-to-be-bride.”
Now the “men” comment makes sense. “That must’ve hurt,” I set the bottle and glass down on the coffee table.
“It did. But you know what? It was the wake-up call I needed. I wasn’t happy.”
“Life’s too short to be unhappy,” I raise my glass to hers. “To happiness.”
“To happiness,” she nods, taking a sip. “Thank you for this. And thank you for rescuing me.”
“Glad to help.”
Our eyes hold for a heartbeat too long, and something inside me shifts. I feel it in my chest, the place where grief hollowed me out. Uncomfortable, I get to my feet.
“I’ll get the spare room ready for you and then make us some dinner.”
“Don’t go to any trouble. I can stay right here,” she says quietly.
“It’s no trouble. I’ll be right back.”
With a knot forming in my stomach, I pray the storm is over soon.
The girl has ignited a craving in me—a craving I can’t feed. She’s too young. I’m too old and too broken. But for the first time since Lucky died, I feel something. And that scares me more than anything.
Chapter Two
Gina
I swallow the lump in my throat as Wyatt disappears down the hall. He’s a beast of a man—broad shoulders, hands bigger than my head—yet every move he makes is careful, deliberate. There’s gentleness in him, the kind that comes from a sensitive heart. I saw it flicker in his eyes when he mentioned his friend.
I should be terrified. I’m trapped on a mountain in the middle of a blizzard, alone in a stranger’s cabin. But the weird thing is—I’m not. Something about him doesn’t feel foreign or dangerous. It feels… familiar. Like, maybe I’ve known him forever.
Lucky purrs from his spot on the hearth, stretching luxuriously as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I smile and take in my surroundings. The cabin is beautiful—cedar walls and floors that glow in the firelight, and soft leather furniture layered with warm plaid throws. There are plants, candles, and small touches that speak of a man who values comfort. It’s homey. Peaceful. The kind of place where you can exhale and never want to leave.
A framed photo on a bookshelf catches my eye. I step closer. It’s Wyatt—clean-shaven, younger, in Army fatigues—with his arm around another man wearing a grin that could light up a city. Instinctively, I know that’s Lucky. My chest tightens. That look in Wyatt’s eyes, the one that carries a shadow, makes perfect sense now.
Outside, the wind lashes the windows, howling like it’s alive. I rub my arms and glance toward the kitchen. If I’m going to be here for a day or two, I might as well make myself useful. A little normalcy can’t hurt.
I start rummaging through his fridge and pantry. There’s turkey, cheese, and a loaf of bread that smells faintly of rosemary. Perfect. Grilled cheese it is. I find a cast-iron skillet, toss in butter, and get to work.
